Iris
by Stephane Richer
Summary: You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be


Iris

Discliamer: I don't own the Goo Goo Dolls' song "Iris" or Matsuri Hino's manga _Vampire Knight._

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Is there an afterlife? Ichiru doesn't know. He wonders if there is, if Shizuka is above him or below him (but she would never be below him, could never be. It would defy everything.) or at least somewhere. He wonders if she knows that he's consumed her blood, wonders if she approves.

He wonders if she even cares. Did he even matter to her at all in the scheme of things? Purebloods live such long lives, and humans live such short ones, that perhaps in the scheme of things he mattered very little. While he did keep her company, while it was just the two of them on the run together, she didn't really need him and he wasn't really all that useful. It was Maria who was the key to the academy, not Ichiru.

She spoke often of her lover. Sadly, fondly, bitterly, it was always him. To get revenge for his death was her reason for living, her reason for wanting to exterminate the rest of the purebloods. He wonders if she is with him, wherever she is. If her sorrow is alleviated.

Selfishly, he wishes she were still here on earth with him. She had been his reason to live, only to serve her. The time in his life before her he cannot remember, at least not clearly. He remembers Zero, his parents, but it seems like some kind of phantom dream, like he'd seen it in a movie or read it in a book, that it didn't happen to him at all.

She had told him she needed him, wanted him, was grateful for his presence, but was she really? Did she just want to placate him? On the other hand, that wouldn't be much like her. She didn't care about that sort of stuff. And he did not need to be placated, did not care about his own worthlessness and ill health. He'd heard insults and whispered anger directed at him, resentment for his very existence among the other hands. He'd developed a thick skin early on.

She, too, had been ostracized, for thinking differently.

She had read his thoughts, posessed him, and put it in words. "We're the same," she'd exclaimed in a whisper, clutching his hand.

He'd merely nodded.

Ichiru wishes that he could go back, tell her how he feels. But that would be pointless, to burden her with his useless feelings. She had a purpose, and perhaps she has served it.

He closes his eyes and breathes, thinks of her. Her scent, sweet, very much like her nickname. Out of season, no matter spring, summer, autumn, winter, still somewhat off. But still beautiful, like the wind on the ocean (she'd taken him every summer to a different beach) threading salty air through her hair. Her noblewoman's laugh, high and clear like bells of the churches she'd taken him one Christmas. Even when lying low, she had wanted to live. She had wanted him to live.

And here he is, not living, barely existing without her. Time is moving; he stands still and drags his feet. No one else mourns her death. He is alone, a bloodstain on the light-coloured sheet that is the world of the hunters. No one wants him here, even (especially) his brother.

He could not kill Rido. In the end, the sickly human is no match for the pureblood vampire. Working for him filled Ichiru with hatred, burning anger he had not felt since his childhood. He does not like the hunters or their building, but it is an idle dislike. They are more a remnant of his past than anything really relevant.

Still, the pain of losing her is raw and fresh and overtakes any hatred or resentment. The way she'd call his name, he can almost hear it in the quick slam of doors, feel her fingers on his cheek in the sharp wind, see her toes in the flowers poking through the ground too early for their time.

Would that he could have died in her arms, heard her shout his name. But it would not be right to give her even more pain.

But if he meant nothing, it could give him closure and her just a minor inconvenience.

So if there's an afterlife, he doesn't care. It doesn't matter. If he gets there, when he finds out...perhaps he will not see her.

Oh, hell, he shouldn't lie to himself. After all, he's the only one who gives half a damn to care about his own thoughts right now. Not shouldn't, can't. And won't. He wants to go there, wants to see her. There is nothing left here for him, only memories and swiftly-eroding time. Even her blood won't save him now. He's still the weak one, the bomb that will go off by sputtering out of existence one day. He cannot speak to her, cannot be with her. No one wants to be with him at all, let alone listen to him.

He might as well make it meaningful. Offer himself up to Zero as he should have done while still in the womb, to atone for everything. If he cannot be consumed by Shizuka (who would never do that anyway, that much she always promised) Zero will do it. Zero will probably be glad to see him gone forever.

Will Shizuka be disappointed that he leaves this way? After all she'd done to keep him safe? But he still will die human, whole, conscious, with as much dignity as someone like him can have. That must count for something.

This is the only way he might ever see her. His sick, twisted mind repeats this ad infinitum. This is the only possibility, the ultimate end.

Zero bites into him, and his mind screams. SHIZUKA SHIZUKA SHIZUKA


End file.
